- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Weaver
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Feet pumping, fingers quick,
colour a blur, threads dancing.
Shuttle flying back and forth
while hands push and pull, always moving
click-clack, click-clack.
Lanolin oils coating work worn fingers,
heathery colours in criss-crossed patterns,
slowly unfolding, warp and weft
while bobbins spin, endlessly whirring.
In the evening dusk the weaver works onward,
a solitary hunched figure,
lamplight guiding the tired eyes that could work without seeing
and his mind that repeats over and over,
the song of the loom,
click-clack, click-clack.
- COMMENTS
SeattleRainabout 20 years agoWonderful. My grandfather was a weaver and we have the shuttle cock to prove it
oh my isnt that what it is called?
but seriously, this sounded exactly as it has been described to me. Thanks! Came here after reading New Poem review.
jthserraabout 20 years agoonomatopoeia (I had to look up the spelling of that one). A nice rhythm here, I felt the looms click-clacking... Excellent.
-- I have a non-erotic short story by the same name that posted yesterday. Very different story, but fun timing.
jim : )
Angelineabout 20 years agoI just love your poem! You really made me see and hear and feel this. Great job--post more, please. :)
